


Slumberless

by N0L1M374NG3R3



Series: Huleth (bilingual) [4]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Before Tailtean, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hubert POV, Insomnia, Introspection, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 07:41:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20653598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N0L1M374NG3R3/pseuds/N0L1M374NG3R3
Summary: Night- mourn-mouthed, silver clad- nests over the rooftops of Garreg Mach. 		   All is quiet- save for his soul.





	Slumberless

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Italiano available: [Senza riposo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20920910) by [N0L1M374NG3R3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/N0L1M374NG3R3/pseuds/N0L1M374NG3R3)

> Hubert POV, Post-You Know What. Hubert feels older, wiser and tired and needs a "friend of the bosom".  
Best served with the accompainment of Massive Attack's "The Spoils" (https://open.spotify.com/track/1GiM6FU0cl4ncCTj4L03Ym), https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8r31DFrFs5A  
Also, apologies for any mistake as non native English speaker.

Night- mourn-mouthed, silver clad- nests over the rooftops of Garreg Mach. All is quiet- save for his soul.

  
He is not new to waking into darkness: in fact (and his addiction to caffeine is likely to play no small part in it) he is quite prone to insomnia.  
Not that he minds: after some time, he has grown accustomed to the slight discomfort of unrested limbs. Learnt how to bend his body to the contrasting needs of duty and deprival (of sleep, of peace, and other many more things). After all, abstinence sharpens his senses- provided it is cleverly practiced.  
One must, so to speak, dance border the blade with such manner of things. An excess of deprival- whatever its kind- shall beget but madness, disease- as he has witnessed in the past, and more than once.  
He is ashamed to admit it now, but in the past it was not seldom that he has stretched his own body beyond its natural boundaries, dangerously close to self-obliteration. A most despicable mistake, as the wisdom of his later age suggests him. Sometimes, since insomnia grants him more than abundant share of time to engage in reflections about the past, he analyzes- no, he inflicts upon himself the list of all the dangers he had exposed Lady Edelgard to with such inconsiderate . At least, his foolishness taught him to guard himself from falling again.  
That stupid, beastly prince, instead, he has ruined into folly like snow into an avalanche, and he was renowned for fasting and exerting other similar manners of penitence.  
During the years of the Academy, Hubert carefully gathered information about anyone possibly representing a threat to the Empress’ s designs, and listened to every whisper running through the halls. Teenagers could prove a precious source of insights, though they tended to exaggerate facts, moulding reality as to meet their own delusional fantasies. Some held Dimitri indulged in self-mortification as proof of piety and devotion- they even praised him for it, regarding theFaerghus heir as a champion of religious fervour.  
Yet, far from scarce was the number of those who murmured about his desire of atonement for an irredeemable guilt the prince tried to alleviate by bringing torment to himself. It seemed he took no pleasure in partaking to this world of the living: rather, he bore it as a shame, something he could never make amends for.  
Bloody lunatic: if only he had perished in that fateful assault as he was meant to, instead of surviving thanks to the intrusion of that Eisner lady… but of course, she could not know, certainly not even imagine who actually disposed the attack- and conveniently so. She would not have picked Black Eagles’ house, to begin with- he had been the farthest from glad when he learnt of her hiring at Garreg Mach’s, but now he can see how irreplaceable she has proven to the Adrestian cause.  
However, he cannot help somehow wishing Dimitri Alexander Bladydd would be long gone, gone for good- reduced to nothing but a remote memory of someone Her Highness used to care for.  
Sooner or later, the Storm King must be slain: this stands without any possible alternative, a fact Lady Edelgard is not the kind to ignore. Yet, their fated reckoning will grief her immensely, perhaps even shatter what is left or her already tortured heart. Deep down, she is as soft as this night- tender and deserted, undisclosed. To him, at least, despite he is perhaps the closest reminder of a family to her. Closest, yes, but not to her soul, which remains, however in his hands, at least partially unreadable, like a marvellous miniated book dense with ancient and foreign words, lost even to the savants- save for _her_, that Eisner lady.  
How jealous he used to be of her ability to tune into the mysterious melody of Lady Edelgard’s heart. He would have liked to be gifted with the same tenderness he once caught in his lady’s eyes when she looked at their teacher. At that time, he found so unfair that logical reasoning proved utterly insufficient for him to cope with the pain such a sight had inflicted on his mind.  
But he was so young, then, so recklessly proud to have everything under his control, ignoring his emotions were rampaging like wild horses in those corners of his soul he preferred never to thread, too scared of what he might find there.

Now he feels… spent. Devoid of ambition. Bereft of his pride, perhaps of each passion whom he too late discovered to be liable to, just like any other man. How unbecoming of him- but he cannot help it, not completely. Yes, if he should name at least one lesson time and war have lavished upon him, with their cruel talent in gifting men with undesirable truths, this is it: he has learnt he is far from infallible, and that trust- which he once reserved only for himself and the Empress- is something he is dangerously unworthy of.  
_I must guard from myself and my own feelings, well before I must guard myself from any other man_. He has been repeating it to himself so many times it sounds like a prayer, now- one of those litanies he recalls to have heard so many times under the cold and unforgiving dome that looms over the Chapel. He cannot even trust Lady Edelgard’s anymore, for she has feelings, too, feelings that harrow her and might cloud her own sight.  
It’s like dancing border the blade, madness at his heels, at the heels of the Empire. He cannot allow himself too much food, cannot indulge in dull slumber, lest everything tumble down the precipice. And he shall not allow Fate to have the upper hand on them all.  
As soon as he has realized how fragile their balance might be, he has ceased to make Edelgard the object of his unconditional adoration. Adoration being a danger, in fact, it had to be removed. Therefore, he does not envy that Eisner lady any longer- and, moreover, now that he has seen her again, so strangely peaceful and caring while she stands right in the eye of their storm- how might the modest moon ever envy the splendour of the sun?  
He has even started desiring to befriend her, of late- quite a while after her sudden, and frankly quite astonishing, reappearance: sadly, he must admit with himself he ignores to what use he might put his desire, so little experience he possesses of such emotional drives.  
Sometimes, she appears distant, divine- even to him, which has never been the kind to indulge in religious feelings, ratherdisdainful instead of any claim of divinity whatsoever. Not unlikely, though, his thoughts on this particular matter are the mere result of a conversation he and Lady Edelgard have conducted only few days ago during a private meeting at the War Table.  
Byleth Eisner is now a strategical asset, and under more than one regard. To begin with she is, after all, the mundane vessel of a God- whatever the term might mean _for real_, beyond doctrine, folklore and popular superstitions.  
Yet, apart from her debatable nature as a reincarnation of Sothis, she is a human being. One he has long ago been driven into respecting, one he has developed a strange manner of liking for, so diverse from the ambitious flare devastating his heart in the days when he was in love with his lady. His is a warm, quelled desire of human vicinity- no thunder, nor storm. Only the chant of water dripping gently into the freshness of thousand pools.  
He cannot help but wonder how and what is she doing right now. Can she sleep in this mourn-mouthed, silver clad night? Or does she ever wake, as he does, tormented by uncertainty, memories and hopes? She rarely looks worried.  
From his room, her quarters are completely out of sight (he has been looking for her windows since... two months?) and she is nowhere in the courtyard to be seen.  
He remembers rather fondly certain days of five years ago, when she spent her nights simply sitting on the docks, in awe of the terse nocturnal sky and listening to the whispers of Garreg Mach’s pond.  
Both due to the oddity of her demeanor, and to the additional fact that she used to mumble to herself as if she was conversing with someone else, and because the plain assumption that she might be the weird type could not provide by any means a satisfactory explanation, he resolved to enquire. He found her conduct suspicious, to say the least, and feared that, under pretense of such an innocent pastime, she might hide who knew which sort of vicious mischief. However, few weeks later, after spying on her to absolutely no avail, he had finally to concede Byleth Eisner had done nothing more nefarious than staying up at late hours.  
On the other hand, in the rather limited span of those days, he had gained nothing of what he expected (perhaps craved) to find, yet he had acquired more detailed insights on her tastes.  
She liked scribbling- however talented, she seemed too lazy to practice and her drawings were often disproportionate and, in general, weird looking-, singing little silly tunes and reading poems.  
At the time he had felt flabbergasted, say even sick, for such prosaic inclinations, and did not miss the chance of sharing his disapproval of them with Lady Edelgard, eliciting instead a completely unforeseen reaction from her part. She welcomed his revelations with warmth and amusement, and not only her opinion of their teacher did not suffer in the least from what he had referred, but was possibly improved by it.  
Tonight, unlike five years before, he does not fail to understand why Her Highness had looked so fond of Byleth Eisner’s triviality- as he had labeled it at that time. To all of them, the woman has always felt domestic, so to speak, domestic and warm and mellow with serenity: suchthe harbour mustfeel to the mariners when they eventually approach it- sea-sated, salt-worn, after uncountable sieges and storms.

Now, perhaps she would appreciate a book of poems?, he wonders. Would it be a gift fit enough for a friend? Wouldn’t she refuse it, since it is coming from him, who not seldom has treated her with singular harshness? Would she accept his yet somber company and speak with him of… things- whatever their kind?

The moon dives already, a marble of candour cascading down the stark backbone of Garreg Mach.  
Tomorrow is closing in.


End file.
